SELECTIONS 



OF 



POEMS AND PROSE 



FROM THE WRITINGS OF 



CHARLES L. BILLINGS 



LIVERMORE, MAINE 



FARMINGTON. ME. 

The Knowlton & McLeary Co., Printers 

1912 



9L ^■ 



SELECTIONS 



POEMS AND PROSE 



FROM THE WRITINGS OF 



CHARLES L. BILLINGS 



LIVERMORE, MAINE 



FARMINGTON, ME. 

The Knowlton & McLeary Co., Printers 

1912 



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CHARLES L. BILLINGS 



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CHARLES LORING BILLINGS 

1841-1866 



"DETWEEN the two dates given above vras lived a life of many 
-■-' noticeable virtues and one that is held in tender remembrance 
by all who had knowledge of it at any stage of its existence. 

Charles Loring Billings, whose life was measured by the interval 
between April 15, 1841, and August 25, 1866, was born in Fayette, 
Maine. He was the fifth of the seven children born to Jesse and 
Harriet (Walton) Billings, who, when Charles was a small child, 
removed to Livermore, where most of his life was passed. He came 
of good New England lineage in various lines, his ancestry including 
one or more who fought for the National independence and others 
who bravely bore their part in the work of pioneers in the wilds of 
Maine. Many of them were of strong physique as well as vigorous 
minds, but while he inherited the moral worth and the intellectual 
powers of the best endowed among his people, he was from child- 
hood very frail in body, suffering from a hip disease which caused 
liim great pain and obliged him to use a crutch a large portion of 
his life. 

Nature was, nevertheless, kind to him and though denying 
physical strength, she gave him gifts of mind and heai-t that rendered 
him able to find much enjoyment in life and made him a delightful 
acquaintance and friend. He was especially fond of books, and, 
unable to engage in outdoor pursuits or sports, good reading was a 
never-failing source of entertainment. He also enjoyed putting his 
own thoughts into writing and was a contributor to several Maine 
papers — perhaps for the most part to the Maine Farmer. The 
articles published herewith are selections in prose and verse from 
his published writings. 



4 IN MEMORIAM. 

In the issue following his decease the Farmer had this notice: 
"Died at Canton Mills, August 25 [1866], Charles L. Billings of 
Livermore, aged 25 years. The deceased had been an invalid for 
many years and was thus debarred from participation in the duties of 
active life. He was a young man of excellent character and fine 
literary attainments, many of his contributions to the columns of 
this paper being marked by superior ability." 

The moral excellence of Mr. Billings was well known to his 
friends and acquaintances. It was marked by honor, fidelity to 
friends, unselfishness and other qualities that ennoble life. They 
may be judged by the following rules of conduct formulated the 
New Year's preceding his death and found among his private papers 
after his decease. 

Resolutions for This Year: 

Monday, January 1, 1866. 

1 — I will at all times speak the exact truth. 

2 — I will use no profane language, drink no tea, coffee or 
spirituous liquors, nor use tobacco or opium in any form. 

3 — I will carefully avoid speaking ill of others. 

4 — I will use every effort to cultivate firmness and perseverance. 

5 — I will, upon retiring at night, think over all the acts of the 
past day. 

6 — I will read the above resolutions once a day. 
May I prove true to these resolutions. 

CHARLES L. BILLINGS. 

The remains of the deceased are buried beside the graves of his 
parents in the pretty cemetery at Brettun's Mills, Livermore, 
Maine. His memory abides in the heai'ts of kindred and friends. 



NATURE'S INFLUENCE. 



SLOWLY the evening shadows veil 
The landscape from my sight, 
And rock and woodland fade away 
Before the coming night. 

The sky glows with the rising moon, 
While, from the hill beyond. 

The sombre pines are mirrored on 
The dark and silent pond. 

Still as the dawning of the world 

The woods and waters lie, 
Only, at intervals, there comes 

The loon's wild, mournful cry. 

These hours of solitude possess 

A power undefined ; 
And every scene in nature leaves 

Its impress on the mind. 

When, fresh, the-morning breezes blow, 
And flush the morning skies, 

Light as the bird that greets the dawn. 
Our joyous spirits rise. 

But when the shrouding darkness falls 
Around each cherished spot, 

Then falls the deep hush on the heart, 
To calm its troubled thought. 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 
LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 



OLD Herbert, the drunkard ! how well I remember 
him ! We called him old, but his was not the old 
age which, like the calm evening of summer, succeeds the 
noon of life with the temperate and virtuous. In the thin, 
gray hair, palsied, trembling hand and feeble, tottering 
footstep, were visible the ravages, not of time, but of dis- 
sipation. Day after day the miserable man sat in the 
grogshop, stupefied with liquor, or lay drunk upon his bed 
in the home to which his presence should have been a 
blessing, but of which it was the curse. Sometimes, on 
rainy days, we used to see him returning from an excursion 
to the pond, with a few fish, which were sold to procure 
the means of gratifying his debasing appetite for strong 
drink. When we little children happened to meet him, 
we drew aside from the road, and, timidly holding each 
other by the hand, whispered, " Here comes old Her- 
bert ! " For we had heard dreadful stories of his abusive 
treatment of his wife and child; how, coming home on 
winter nights, he had many a time, in his drunken frenzy, 
beaten them and thrust them out of doors, where, thinly 
clad as they were, and almost perishing with cold, they 
had remained for hours, not daring to return until silence 
within told that the wretched husband and father had 
fallen asleep. 

The fiery poison which his depraved appetite demanded 
had done much to enfeeble the brain and sear the con- 
science of its victim, yet in his rational moments the 
degraded man seemed keenly to feel the depth of his own 



■ Published in the Maine Farmer. December, 1865. 



LETTIE PIERCE S STORY. 7 

degradation. He walked with bowed head and downcast 
eyes, seldom entering the house of a neighbor, and rarely 
speaking unless first accosted. Thus, shunned and feared 
by innocent children, an object of pity to the humane and 
of ridicule to the heartless, and a terror to his own family, 
the poor inebriate dragged out his dreary existence. 

There were intervals when the unhappy man seemed to 
contend with all his strength against the terrible appetite 
that enthralled him. Then, for two or three days, he 
would be seen at work in his garden, or making some 
repairs upon his house. At such times much of his former 
kindness to and love for his wife seemed to return, his 
conduct toward her was affectionate, though humble, and 
he appeared proud and fond of his little son. Then it was 
that something of his true nature appeared, for, poor and 
fallen as he now was, Thomas Herbert had once enjoyed 
prosperity and esteem. No handsomer or more manly 
bridegroom, they said, ever entered the village church 
than he when he led Mary Willis to the altar ; nor ever 
couple commenced life with brighter prospects. It was 
the old, sad story. The demon intemperance, that, like 
the fiend in the Eastern story, came at first in the shape of 
a tiny insect, had grown to a mighty dragon, and was 
strangling his deluded votary. Friends had become es- 
tranged, health and happiness were destroyed, and property 
had passed, little by little, into the hands of that most 
active and faithful purchasing agent for the devil, the 
rumseller. 

Mary Herbert, the drunkard's wife, was a pale, patient 
woman, still retaining much of the beauty that in her 
girlhood had made her the belle of her native village. 



8 LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 

Through years of poverty, trial and shame, she had steadily 
resisted the entreaties of her friends, who offered her a 
comfortable home on condition of a separation from the 
besotted being whose wife she was. "He is my hus- 
band," she said, "I cannot leave him;" and day and 
night she labored for his support and that of her only child , 
a noble, handsome little fellow eight years of age, the idol 
of his mother. Many a present was made her by her 
neighbors, though of small individual worth ; for they knew 
that anything of sufficient value would be carried off and 
bartered for rum by the drunken husband. The small, 
unpainted house in which they lived was clean as hands 
could make it, and bright- hued flowers blossomed in the 
little dooryard, evincing a love of the beautiful that not 
even penury and misfortune like hers could crush out. 

Frank Herbert, my little playmate, two years older 
than I, was my boy lover. Whether we played by the 
hazel-shaded brook, casting sticks and leaves on its bright 
surface to see them carried over its miniature cascades, or 
gathered acorns and beechnuts in the woods through the 
warm, golden hours of Indian summer days, or sought for 
wild flowers and green velvet-like mosses, we were still 
companions. Whatever of childhood's joys or sorrows we 
might have, each found a ready and sympathizing friend 
in the other. Sometimes Frank would come to me crying 
bitterly : " O Lettie, he strikes mother, and I am afraid 
he will kill her ! " and then I would try every way to con- 
sole him, though crying myself from sympathy. Even at 
this tender age there were many ways in which Frank 
managed to be of assistance to his mother. He attended 
school both summer and winter ; his mother working hard to 



LETTIE PIERCE S STORY. 9 

give her son the advantage of a good education. Frank 
was quick to learn, and with his mother for a teacher 
during vacations, was in advance of most children of his 
age. The summer preceding the winter that Frank's 
father died, when I was six years old, was my iirst term at 
school, whither I went, as usual, with my little playmate. 
I remember how longingly I used to glance out at the 
window of the dingy little schoolroom into the open, sun- 
light fields of waving grass, listening to the bob-o- link's 
song, as he swayed to and fro on the elm boughs, and 
waiting for the hour of four, that seemed as if it would 
never come. And when the glad word of release was 
given, and we were once more free as the swallows that 
skimmed over the field, we returned home together, stop- 
ping to watch the fishes playing in the brook, or the gay- 
winged butterflies circling around the pink blossoms of the 
thistles that grew by the hot, dusty road. So the long 
summer wore away. The sultry days of August came, and 
our school was finished. Then we were free to play again, 
and the time passed rapidly and pleasantly by till the 
leaves were fallen from the woods, the days grew short and 
cold, cattle came to the barns, the boys put on their new 
thick boots, and the winter schools were commencing. 

It was in December that Frank's father died. The 
weather had been intensely cold, though the ground was 
yet bare. The sun shone out faintly from the dull, leaden 
sky, but his feeble beam contained no warmth. At length 
the storm commenced in all its fury. I remember how I 
stood at the window, watching the driving clouds of snow, 
and pitying those whose business called them abroad. 
All that night, the next day and the next night, the storm 



10 LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 

continued to rage. On the second night of the storm 
old Herbert disappeared. The last that had been seen of 
him was when he left the rum- shop, late at night, to return 
home. Search was made and his body was found in a 
piece of woods adjoining the road. In the bewilderment 
of intoxication he had strayed from the road and sinking 
down in the snow, had fallen into a sleep from which he 
never woke. 

Relieved from the burden of her drunken husband's 
maintenance, Mrs. Herbert's prospects became brighter. 
She had only herself and son to provide for now ; the 
product of her labor at the needle supplied their simple 
wants ; and Frank was growing up to be the stay and solace 
of his idolized mother. As time passed on, and with in- 
creasing age and strength, Frank was able to do more and 
more toward their support, we were less together ; but he 
was always the same noble, manly boy, kind and cheerful, 
and I loved him like a brother. 

Six years passed away, and it was early winter again. 
Then came what was to me a great event, my first visit to 
my rich merchant uncle in the city, twenty miles distant. 
It was a visit which had long been promised me, and to 
which I had looked forward with great anticipations ; for 
cities and city life were known to me only by report. 
Father and I were to have an early breakfast, and be on 
the road before light, as we were to return the same day. 
So, while the bright sunset gave promise of a fair day for 
our journey, I sat beside mother and chatted to her of the 
pleasure which the morrow would bring. Dear mother ! 
it was seldom enough that her household duties allowed of 
her leaving home, but I am sure she would not have found 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 11 

half the pleasure in making the visit herself that she took 
in seeing her little girl happy. 

My dreams that night were light and joyous ; and when- 
ever I awoke, it was with a recurring sense of something 
pleasant in store for me. And soon, I heard the old cor- 
ner clock striking five, and mother's soft voice calling me. 
I was quickly attired for my ride, as every article of ward- 
robe had received the most critical attention for a week 
previous. Our breakfast awaited us, and father's overcoat 
was warming at the fire. I was all in a flutter of excite- 
ment, and secretly wondered how father could be so calm 
and self-possessed. Our arrangements were at length com- 
pleted ; my brother John brought up our horse , with bells 
jingling musically on the keen, crisp air; mother held the 
lamp for us at the door ; we said good-bye , and were off. 
Through the still, shadowy woods; down into the hollow, 
where the brook, not yet frozen, had thawed dark caverns 
in the snow ; on past the old schoolhouse , we pursued our 
way along the old road Frank and I had so often traveled. 
Then the stars paled their light and darted, one by one, 
down the sky ; the snowy summits of the hills were flushed 
with rosy light ; and the sun rose gloriously. Now the 
bells tinkled faintly as our horse walked slowly up a long 
hill, then they sung out a right merry chime as he dashed 
down its declivity, shattering the frozen snow into spray 
that scintillated in the bright sun like a shower of diamonds. 
White columns of smoke were rising from the chimneys, 
and passing by one neat farmhouse, whose occupants 
seemed to be early risers, we saw bright, young faces at 
the window looking out on the road. We had long since 
entered upon a region unknown to me, which became 



12 LETTiE Pierce's story. 

more thickly settled as we proceeded. As the morning 
advanced, we began to be met or overtaken by other teams. 
Farmers were watering their stock; and groups of boys 
were collected around the schoolhouse doors. 

The hands of the town clock were pointing to the hour 
of ten when we entered the city and drove through the 
busy streets to Uncle John's handsome residence. The 
long ride through unfamiliar scenery, combined with the 
many unwonted sights and sounds , had produced in me a 
kind of bewilderment ; so that I moved and felt like one 
in a dream. Even my aunt's warm welcome and soft kiss 
could not entirely dispel the feeling of unreality until Uncle 
John came in with father, and kissing me, took me on his 
knee as in his visits to us, and began to chat with us about 
the old place. 

I need not dwell upon the incidents of our visit at Uncle 
John's, nor tell how greatly I enjoyed it ; but when father 
and I returned home. I had an offer to communicate to 
mother. My uncle and aunt were childless ; and they had 
offered to place me at an excellent school in the city on 
condition of my making my home with them. I was over- 
joyed at the proposal, for father had given his consent, 
and I knew that mother, though she would be sad at the 
thought of my leaving home, would not let her love for me 
stand in the way of my obtaining a better education than 
our country schools afforded an opportunity for acquiring. 
So the matter was arranged. The following June I took 
leave of my friends, and went away to the city ; and in the 
prosecution of my studies four years wore quickly away. 
During that time I was often at home ; and the stage never 
brought me in sight of the old farm, with its brown, cosy 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 13 

buildings, its orchard of gnarled, mossy trees, and the 
clear pond at its back, that I did not feel my pulses quicken 
with delight. Whenever I visited home, one of my first 
calls was always upon Mrs. Herbert. It was pleasant to 
see how the loving care of her son and the relief from toil 
which his exertions had procured her, had brought back 
the bloom to her cheek, and the light to her eye. Their 
home was comfortable and pleasant now ; the house had 
received a coat of paint and an addition of green blinds ; 
while an arbor of luxuriant grape-vines and a neat, white 
paling in front had so changed its appearance that one 
would hardly have recognized the place. Frank was at 
work by the day for the farmers in the neighborhood ; and 
nothing that his labor could procure or his loving care 
provide, was ever wanting to his morher's comfort and 
happiness. He was tall and stalwart now, almost a man ; 
but with the same cheerful smile, the same noble, unselfish 
spirit. When I came home at vacation Frank never failed 
to call and see me in the evening, after his day's work was 
done, to learn how I was prospering at school. 

Well, as I said, four years passed by and my education 
was completed. I believe that my education differed 
much from that which is usually acquired by girls at the 
fashionable boarding schools, and which consists principally 
in learning to paint flowers in unnatural colors, and pro- 
nounce French words wrong. But I was always rather 
matter-of-fact in my viev/s ; and my education partook 
more of the plain and practical, than the elegant and 
useless. 

It may seem the more strange on this account, indeed, 
I wonder now myself, that I should fall in love with the 



14 LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 

one whom I did. But I believe, after all, that I was not 
half so deeply in love with him as I persuaded myself ; 
though I was dazzled by his elegance, and pleased by at- 
tentions which made me envied by all the girls of my 
acquaintance as silly as myself. Ross Carleton was the son 
of a wealthy merchant. He was tall, graceful and hand- 
some, with jet black hair and moustache, dressing always 
with most exquisite taste, and possessing a talent for music, 
poetry and the fine arts generally. An only child, he had 
never known an ungratified wish ; and being a pleasant 
companion, he was a general favorite and in great request 
at social gatherings and evening parties. He was a frequent 
visitor at Uncle John's, where I first became acquainted 
with him. We attended balls, operas and concerts ; read, 
walked, rode and sang together ; and at last I began to be, 
or fancy myself in love with him. And so, when Ross 
came to make a declaration of love for me , I acknowledged 
that it was returned, and thought myself happy in its pos- 
session. This was at the close of the second summer after 
my leaving school, when I was going home to spend the 
fall and winter. It was arranged that the following spring 
my lover should visit us, when we were to make our at- 
tachment known to my parents and ask their consent to an 
engagement ; for I could never think of engaging myself 
without their knowledge. When I said so to Ross I was 
for a moment surprised and hurt by the impatient, petu- 
lant tone of his reply , so different from his usual agreeable 
manner ; but it was soon forgotten. 

In the drawer of my writing-desk, among letters and 
keepsakes, I have a bunch of small, withered wild grapes. 



LETTiE Pierce's story. 15 

pinned to a card on which is written " The Island Excur- 
sion." I will tell you about it. 

I had been having great times helping mother in my 
awkward way, about house, going fishing, picking apples 
and husking corn with father and John, and amusing 
myself in a variety of undignified ways, so that, almost 
before I knew it, the last days of October had come. One 
evening Frank came in to see us in company with Annie 
Lyman. Annie was my schoolmate, and one of my most 
intimate friends ; a pretty, lively girl whom I more than 
suspected John looked upon as his future wife. While the 
four of us sat talking and laughing in the parlor, John laid 
before us for approval, a project that he had formed of 
making an excursion to Cherry Island the next day. This 
is an island of about thirty acres extent in the river some 
two miles below. John proposed that we should walk the 
mile and a half to the river across the fields; then, as one 
of the farmers there with whom we were acquainted had a 
large boat which we could obtain, we would row to the 
island, taking our dinner with us, and spend the day. 
A small tract upon the island had been cleared for grass, 
but the remainder was covered with a heavy growth of 
timber ; and a lumberman's camp where men had worked 
the winter before, was specified as our dining-hall. The 
project was received with approbation by the entire com- 
pany, and arrangements were at once made to carry it 
into effect. 

We made a merry party when we set out the next morn- 
ing upon our walk across the fields to the river. It was 
one of those mornings in our perfect Indian summer 
weather, when the woods are almost bare; when squirrels 



16 LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 

rustle among the thick-strewn leaves as they gather in their 
winter hoards ; when the partridge comes out on the 
sheltered side of the wood to bask in the bright morning 
sun. The clear blue sky was unflecked by a single cloud ; 
a soft, dreamy haze overspread the landscape ; there was 
a clamorous meeting of crows over the hill, and the blue- 
jays were flitting through the groves. 

We crossed the brook on an Al Sirat of a single log, 
and stopped under an oak to gather the acorns that John 
and Frank brought down in a perfect hailstorm by throw- 
ing clubs into the tree. Then, dispatching John as envoy 
to Mr. Clark's, Frank, Annie and I started in a foot race 
down to the bank of the river. The boat lay there , chained 
to the root of a leaning tree undermined by the current, 
and half filled with leaves. John came down with the 
key to the padlock on the boat's chain ; the water, which 
a rain of a few days previous had left in the boat, was 
bailed out ; Annie and I seated ourselves astern ; John and 
Frank took the oars, and we floated down the river — 
Annie amusing herself by throwing acorns at John, who 
retorted by splashing her liberally with his oar. The low, 
flat bars of yellow sand, that had been left bare by the 
summer drouth, were submerged now, for the fall rains 
had raised the river up to the leafless thickets of willow, 
along its banks. But the water was smooth as a mirror ; 
and when our oarsmen paused from their labor, and 
allowed the boat to drift with the current, our motion was 
imperceptible. The day grew warm. From the depths 
of the neighboring woods came the muffled drumming of a 
partridge, and two hawks were sailing in majestic circles 
overhead. 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 17 

We landed in a little cove of the island, and made our 
way up through the woods to the small cleared space in 
which the camp was situated. It was a rude structure, 
with walls of rough logs, a small door opening outward on 
the south, and sloping shed roof of bark, half hidden by 
the growth of shoots, many of them retaining their leaves, 
which had sprung up from the stumps of trees during the 
summer. Inside, there was a long seat extending across 
the cabin, formed of a plank hewn from a log and sup- 
ported on stakes driven into the ground, and rude bunks 
filled with straw, were ranged around the sides. On the 
north wall there was a bit of looking-glass, fastened to the 
logs by means of wooden pegs, with a small shelf below it 
for combs and shaving apparatus. At the east end of the 
camp was a huge fireplace formed by piHng rough rocks 
against the logs of the wall , and covering them with earth — 
a large opening having been left in the roof for the passage 
of the smoke. In this, more for appearance than com- 
fort, John and Frank kindled a large fire ; and as we sat at 
our lunch, while the flames lighted up the camp, we could 
imagine how welcome a retreat it must have been when 
the great trees were creaking and groaning in the cold 
wind of a winter evening, as the teamster drove home his 
wearied team, with clinking chains, and the red-shirted 
choppers returned to camp. 

Our dinner being dispatched, it was agreed that we 
should go to the opposite side of the island and separate, 
one couple going in one direction and the other in the 
opposite, so as to make the circuit of the island, meeting 
at the boat. So, leaving John and Annie to pass around 
the northern end, Frank and I pursued our way along the 



18 LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 

edge of the island, over beds of crisp, gray moss and spurs 
of projecting ledge. 

On the south end of the island, in a sunny, sheltered 
nook of the woods, there is a high, steep rock under the 
branches of a large hemlock tree, up which, with Frank's 
assistance, I climbed. Its flat summit, strewn with the 
dead leaves of the hemlock, afforded us a seat, and from a 
vine that clung to a small maple tree growing beside the 
rock, I gathered this cluster of grapes, which I keep as a 
memento of the day. And, sitting there in the warmth 
and stillness of that mellow, October day, gazing far down 
the blue, winding river, I first heard from Frank's lips the 
confession of his love for me , and knew that I must pain 
that noble heart by a denial of the return which he asked. 
It was an unexpected revelation. I had not dreamed of 
his loving me otherwise than as an intimate friend. And 
yet, how sweet it was to know he loved me ! I believe 
I had not learned my own heart then. 

"Oh, Frank ! " I cried, bursting into tears and taking 
his hands in mine, " I am so sorry I did not think of this 
sooner ! But indeed I had no idea that you thought of me 
otherwise than as the girl who has been your playmate and 
friend. I am afraid you will think I have been trifling 
with you, and that in rejecting your love, I have forfeited 
your friendship." 

Frank's voice was tremulous with the emotion he so 
bravely tried to conceal, since he knew it would add to my 
distress ; but his own generous spirit spoke in the reply : 
"No, no, Lettie ! I know the dear little girl who has 
been my true friend so long, too well to think so badly of 
her. Let us be friends, as we have been; and do not let 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 19 

the thought of this make you unhappy. My wishes will 
always be for your happiness, and I shall prize your friend- 
ship as much as ever. I ought to be content with being 
esteemed worthy of its bestowal." 

We sat for a long time in silence, then descended from 
the rock, and pursued our way around to the boat, where 
we found John and Annie awaiting our arrival, and won- 
dering what had detained us. I think something in our 
manner must have given them an intimation of what 
had taken place, and that they felt troubled on that 
account, for both were unusually silent, and I observed that 
Annie, who was always the life and soul of a party, looked 
thoughtful and anxious. Our return home was marked by 
a seriousness little in keeping with the character of a party 
of pleasure ; and the few weeks that followed, I count 
among the most unhappy days of my life more than com- 
monly exempt from care. 

Through the winter months my companions upon the 
island excursion were my pupils in reading the ^neid of 
glorious Maro. All three were apt scholars, accomplishing 
much more in the same time than a large proportion of 
my fellow students in the city. And it is a remark I may 
be allowed to make even here, that I have found scholars 
in the country, attending school from sixteen to twenty 
weeks in the year, generally in advance of those in the 
city, whose yearly attendance amounts to more than twice 
that. I cannot but think it a mistaken zeal on the part 
of parents, that obliges attendance upon the public schools 
for so large a portion of the year ; and that the cause of 
education would be better promoted, as the cause of health 
would certainly be, by prescribing shorter terms and sessions. 



20 LETTiE Pierce's story. 

Our recitation room was the old kitchen, with its spot- 
less floor, and fire of crackling logs. Frank and John 
were both hard at work during the day, cutting wood to 
fill a contract they had taken in company ; but in the long 
evenings we met for our exercise. Annie was as wild, 
roguish, and full of frolic as ever, and Frank, although I 
knew how cruel a blow the dissipation of his hopes must 
have been to him, bore up bravely ; so it was a pleasant 
winter, after all. 

March came, and on the day appointed my elegant 
lover arrived from the city. We had corresponded fre- 
quently since I had been at home, and my parents were 
prepared to see him. They received him kindly and 
cordially ; but I was mortified and grieved by the air of 
superiority and condescension visible in his manner, as if 
he were conferring the highest of honors in vouchsafing 
them a visit. Father and mother, however, did not seem 
to notice this, but made him welcome by every means in 
their power. 

Late that evening father received a summons to the 
parlor. No doubt he had divined for what purpose his 
presence was requested, but he looked grave as we told 
him of our attachment to each other, and asked his con- 
sent to an engagement. How much I owe to his wise 
foresight, and solicitude for my welfare ! Surely , my in- 
debtedness is greater than the most devoted affection can 
repay ! 

" Mr. Carleton," he said, ** I have much confidence in 
my daughter ; but you will pardon my saying that I con- 
sider your acquaintance insufficient to warrant an engage- 
ment. You are a stranger to me, and it is natural that I 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY. 21 

should desire to know more of the man with whom I am 
to entrust the happiness of my daughter. With that view, 
I would ask that you make it your home with us for a 
fortnight. We should be happy to have the pleasure of 
your company, and I promise you my decision at the end 
of that time. " 

The proposal was assented to, though with a very bad 
grace, by my elegant lover, and I soon began to find how 
unsuited we were to be companions for life. Either he 
must have thought highly of my forbearance, or as is more 
probable, his affection for me was not strong enough to 
induce him to reform the habits of indolence and apathy 
which had become second nature to him ; though I think 
he loved me as well as a nature so intensely selfish was 
capable of doing. He passed the time lying on the sofa 
in the parlor, smoking, yawning and sleeping, or sneering 
at our country fashions, and bewailing his exile from the 
city. There were splendid mornings when the young 
people of the neighborhood were out on the crusted snow 
for sliding, or a walk to the sugar camps; but he could 
never be persuaded to join them. But what annoyed and 
mortified me more than all the rest, was the disrespectful 
and supercilious manner of his behavior toward my parents 
and friends. His indolent and effeminate habits, I might 
have borne with ; but to see those whom I loved and 
respected treated as his inferiors, was too much. 

The tenth day of his stay with us, Mrs. Wilson, one of 
our neighbors, came in to make us a call, and I took her 
into the parlor, where, as usual, my elegant lover was 
lounging upon the sofa. Without rising from his reclining 
posture, he acknowledged my introduction by the slightest 



22 LETTiE Pierce's story. 

possible bow and a haughty stare, while I felt my cheeks 
flush with indignation at the insolence of his demeanor. 
Throughout my conversation with Mrs. Wilson, his ill- 
breeding displayed itself in winks and grimaces at every 
odd or ungrammatical expression used by our visitor, a 
worthy lady, much respected by all who knew her. 

At the end of half an hour, during which I could hardly 
keep back the tears that shame and anger were forcing to 
my eyes, Mrs. Wilson rose to go. I accompanied her to 
the piazza, bade her good day, and then went back to the 
parlor. 

" Mr. Carleton," I said, " I have come to tell you that 
we must part." 

He started up in amazement at my words and manner, 
for I had spoken in earnest. 

" Lettie, you don't mean that ! " he exclaimed. 

" I do mean it, Mr. Carleton. I will never marry any 
man who would have me blush for my friends. The past 
few days have shown me your true character ; and I thank 
Heaven that I have escaped such wretchedness as would 
have been my lot in becoming your wife." 

These were my last words with him ; and the stage con- 
veyed him to town the next morning. I hear that he has 
married a rich and fashionable wife, and is living in great 
style on her money. Well, I do not envy her ! 

One year from that time came the fall of Sumter, the 
grand uprising of the loyal North to avenge the insult 
offered to the Government, and the commencement of 
those four most terrible years in our country's history. 
And when Frank left us to take part in the struggle for our 
national life, it was with my promise given him, and my 



LETTIE PIERCE'S STORY, 23 

kiss on his lips. In the fever- stricken swamps of the 
Chickahominy, along the lone bayous of the Red River, 
among the veterans whom the invincible Grant led to victory 
against the foes of Liberty and Justice, my brother and 
lover have marched and fought side by side, while we at 
home have , many a time , listened in agonizing suspense to 
catch the tidings from Southern fields, not knowing but 
our dear ones might be lying, stark and gory, among their 
slain comrades. But God in His mercy has spared them 
to us ; and when glad bells ring in the joyous New Year, 
I shall call Frank husband, and Annie sister. 



24 OUR HOPE FOR THE SPRING. 



OUR HOPE FOR THE SPRING. 



THE earth will welcome back, ere long, the warm 
returning sun. 

And the sparrow's plaintive whistle tell that Winter's race is 
run ! 

Soon shall the willow's buds expand, the brown fields re- 
appear, 

The robin's sprightly carol hail the morning of the year ! 

Again the gray old forest trees put forth their tender leaves ; 

Again the snowy pigeon coo upon the mossy eaves ; 

Again the voice of Spring shall bid the loosened streamlet 
flow. 

And wake to life once more the flowers that sleep beneath 
the snow. 

Before the sweet, south winds diffuse their odors o'er the 
land , 

Before the early fisher's bark, departing, leaves the strand, 

God grant that Peace, with angel smile, shall gladden shore 
and sea ! 

God grant that, flung to every breeze, the banner of the 
free. 

Without one star's pure lustre dimmed, one tint of morning 
paled , 

In bright folds wave and rustle, by no traitor hand assailed ! 

And on the cannon planted hill the straying cattle graze ; 

While wheat-fields mark the plain where shone the camp- 
fire's nightly blaze. 



REMUNERATION. 



REMUNERATION. 



25 



I-MIE pearl that gleams beneath the wave 
With purest light, and well repays 
The patient toil by which 'tis won, 
Lies hidden from the diver's gaze. 

Searching amid the watery waste, 

Long time, with cheerful heart, he braves 
The whirling currents of the sea, 

The fury of the dashing waves ; 
And disappointments must be his ; 

And many a hard day's labor be 
Unpaid, before the sparkling prize 

Is wrested from its native sea. 

So he who, from the sea of truth 

Would cull the gems that glisten there , 

Must feel the wrath of sorrow's storm. 
And breast the troubled waves of care. 

Yet, hopeful still, through sun and shower 
He presses on, for, hardships past. 

Full well he knows his efforts shall 
Secure the pearl of price at last. 



26 THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 

2 THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 



ONLY a plain tombstone of white marble ; but the 
name upon it had caught my eye, and kneeling 
beside it, I read the inscription : 

" Sacred to the memory of 

Frederick Compton, 

who died Jan. 15, 18—. Aged 36. 

" Here is our resting place; and here 
The vain dream of ambition ends. 
Amid Life's scenes of hope and fear 
Think whitherward thy journey tends." 

The shadows of a lingering August twilight were slowly 
deepening around the little village churchyard. Night had 
come with its refreshing coolness, and all was quiet as the 
hearts of the sleepers under the sod. The distant river, 
no longer glimmering in the fervid sun, showed dark and 
cool through the fringe of willows on its bank, without a 
ripple to disturb its surface. The chirp and hum of insects 
were growing fainter, and the harvesters had gone home 
from the yellow field on the neighboring hill. The east 
was aglow with moonrise, and the stars were coming out 
in the sky, and still I lingered in that lonely place of 
graves. 

Fred Compton had been my brother by adoption, and 
now, kneeling there in the hush of evening, my mind went 
back, as in a dream, over all the years of our boyhood. 

Our home had been on the bank of a clear. New 
England lake. Away to the north rose a wild, lonely hill, 
where the foxes barked at night, and over whose rugged 
summit I used to watch the shadows of the clouds sweeping 



2 Published in the Maine Farmer, October, 1863. 



THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 27 

swift as the hawk that was always sailing around it. I 
remembered the old house, with its mossy roof and walls 
blackened by the storms that for sixty winters had beaten 
upon it. The hardy pioneer who erected it, long since 
finished his labors, and lay down to rest. Many have 
dwelt there since ; from hand to hand the old house passed, 
until my father became its possessor. 

But we were not sole occupants, for the old house had 
other tenants that, like the Gipsies of the Old World, had 
settled upon the manor without the consent of its lord. 
In the dilapidated cornice the strange, squeaking bats 
made their home. At sunset, the chimney-swallows took 
their short flights with shrill twitter ; and sometimes when 
Fred and I lay awake at night, we used to hear them 
rumbling in the flue with a sound like distant thunder. 
When autumn had come, when the woods had stolen the 
warm hue of the hazy yellow sunlight asleep on the hills, 
and the muffled drumming of the partridge alone broke in 
upon the Sabbath stillness, the old house was enlivened 
through the moonlight nights by the chirp of a cricket 
that, like minstrel of old, paid for his lodging with his song. 

I remembered the dear home group who used to gather 
around the old-fashioned fireplace after the labor of the 
day was over, and sit watching the ever- varying pictures 
that fancy portrayed in the crinkling coals. I seemed to 
behold again, lighted up by the ruddy glow of the firelight, 
those features upon which I had not gazed for years ; the 
pale, holy face of my mother, my father's sturdy form and 
bold countenance, and the curly hair and deep, thoughtful 
eyes of that adopted brother by whose grave I knelt. 
Never, in all the long, weary, eventful years that had 



28 THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 

elapsed since I crossed the worn threshold and left my 
home for the sea, had the remembrance of that circle 
passed from my mind. Once, only, in all that time I 
had heard from home. A former acquaintance whom I 
casually met in a foreign country told me that my parents 
had both died two years before ; and that Fred , having 
completed the college course entered upon soon after my 
departure, was soon to be united in marriage to Carrie 
Clifton, whom I well remembered as our pretty little 
schoolmate. The news of our parents' death dealt a 
heavy blow to my heart. I had cherished the idea of 
returning with a fortune ; of supporting them in their age , 
and making restitution for every unfilial act by which I had 
given them pain. But one friend remained to me, and 
the hope of meeting my brother had cheered me on 
through all the ensuing years — years of captivity among 
Polynesian savages, and toil in Australian mines. And 
now, returning to the land of my birth, with a fortune far 
beyond my anticipations, how strange the providence by 
which I had encountered his grave in the obscure English 
town ! 

We had been playmates, and had loved each other well ; 
but no two characters could have been more dissimilar ; 
Fred so quiet, thoughtful and studious — I wild, reckless 
and disobedient. At school, Fred was always at the head 
of his class, while among our companions, I was the 
chosen leader in all our games ; and so it came about that 
at the age of sixteen, I, with my love of adventure, shipped 
for a whaling cruise in the South Pacific, while Fred, a year 
younger, was preparing for college. Little did I dream 
as the low line of land grew blue and hazy in the distance. 



THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 29 

that I had bidden my friends an eternal farewell. With a 
heavy, aching heart, I arose and walked back to my hotel. 

It was late at night when I reached the inn, and the 
family -had retired. I was, therefore, obliged to defer 
making inquiry, as I was longing to do, in regard to the 
circumstances of ray brother's death. Going to my room, 
I lay down, without undressing, and waited with feverish 
anxiety for the morrow. Morning came at last, and with 
the first glimpse of day I was astir. In reply to my eager 
inquiries, the landlord told me that Fred had come to the 
village two years before ; that he had rented a neat cottage 
near by and had supported himself and his little daughter, 
Carrie, then ten years of age, until the previous winter, 
when he died of a quick consumption , induced , probably , 
by his confined mode of life. The daughter, he told me, 
was living in the family of a Mr. Henderson, who, having 
no children, had adopted her and by whom she was 
already loved as though she were his own child. 

Fred had a daughter then, and she so near me — the 
only being on earth in whose veins flowed the same blood 
that warmed my own. I was soon at the pleasant house 
occupied by the kind-hearted English couple, and there I 
saw for the first time my little niece. With the clear eye 
and broad, intellectual brow of her father, she possessed 
the graceful figure and sunny brown hair that I so well 
remembered as belonging to her mother. Her warm 
caresses, when I told my relationship, bespoke a nature as 
ardent as her father's had been. Sitting upon my knee, 
with her head lying on my shoulder, she told me how often 
her father had talked to her of " Uncle James," and sob- 
bing, how her mother had died in America, of their 



30 THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD.' 

voyage across the ocean, and her father's death. Her 
sweet, confiding manner and childish affection would have 
won a harder heart than mine, and my love went out to 
the little orphan who seemed the only link to bind me 
to earth. 

The friends whom I had hoped to meet had passed 
away from earth ; there remained no voice to welcome me 
back to my native land. My fortune was ample for the 
indulgence of my desires, and I resolved to make my home 
here, where I might be with my brother's child. Our 
love for Carrie was a bond of sympathy, and William and 
Mary Henderson willingly assented to my proposal to 
become their lodger. My effects were soon removed to 
my new home, and its quiet content, after so many years 
of suffering, toil and danger, was like a peaceful haven to 
a storm-tossed mariner. The six years following that fled 
away so like a dream of happiness are an oasis in the 
desert of my life. Carrie was my constant companion, 
and I lavished upon her all the wealth of love so long 
treasured up in my breast. Each day that added to her 
delicate and spiritual beauty, developed new charms of 
mind and heart, and every hour spent in her companion- 
ship served but to endear her the more to me. She was 
my idol, and though at times, as I saw her beauty grew 
more and more ethereal, a vague fear oppressed me, yet I 
thrust it away, and would not listen to its boding voice. 
Not till the seventh year of my sojourn in Alton came the 
crushing blow, and I knew that her soul was putting its 
mansion in order for departure. 

It was spring when Carrie told me that death must, ere 
long, divide us. We were sitting at a window that looked 



THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 31 

toward the west, and watching the shifting hues of the 
bright clouds where the sun was going down in an ori- 
flamme of purple and gold. She bent to kiss the rough, 
embrowned hand enclasped in her own delicate fingers, 
and whispered, "Uncle James, I shall leave you soon; 
will you miss me much? " 

Spring brightened into summer, the summer passed, 
and autumn perfected the work of the season. Hedges 
were red with the ripened haws, and fields glittered at 
morning with the evanescent jewels of the frost. Her life 
was declining with the glories of the year. 

It was late autumn when Carrie died — a cold and 
dreary night of drenching, November rain. Without, the 
sullen plash and drip of the cheerless storm, within, a 
sorrow-stricken group around the couch of a dying girl. 
At dawn, the gale lulled; the storm was over; and, fair 
and clear, the morning light looked in on her insensate 
form. In the gloom of the rattling storm, her disen- 
thralled spirit had made its transit from time to eternity ; 
and bright as the beautiful day was its home in the land 
of the immortal. 

Again I stand on American soil. There is no eye to 
brighten at my coming ; I am an alien in my childhood's 
home. But my country has need of me, and to-morrow I 
leave with my regiment to do battle in her sacred cause. 
Something at my heart tells me I shall not survive the 
conflict. It is well. Life has lost its charms to me, and, 
perishing in the struggle, only the patriotic stranger will 
mourn for the rough sailor who was the last of the 
household. 



32 THE LAST OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 

So, brokenly, closes the manuscript story. The journals 
that chronicled the terrible disaster to our arms at Ball's 
Bluff, and the heroic conduct of Col. Nevin's command 
on the ill-fated 8th of October, '61, contained the follow- 
ing record : 

"Mass. 15th. Wounded, James Compton, private, 
Co. — , mortally, since dead." 



SONG OF THE SPANISH MULETEER. 33 



SONG OF THE SPANISH MULETEER. 



CHILL is the breath of the evening gales, 
That over the wide sierra sweep, 
And slowly the waning daylight fails. 

Where the path o'erhangs the fearful steep ; 
Far on the summit the condor clings 

To his pinnacle , bathed in the sunset clear 
But, blent with the voice of the torrent, rings 
The song of the careless muleteer. 

All day the mountain track we thread, 

Till faint and fainter the day-gleams grow. 
Till shine the silent stars o'erhead. 

And village lights in the vale below ; 
Nor heeds the hardy muleteer. 

That keen and coldly the night winds blow. 
While one to him than life more dear. 

His coming waits in the vale below. 

When soft and sweet the vesper peals 

From convent bells, in the twilight dim, 
Before her cross she humbly kneels. 

And breathes her nightly prayer for him. 
And little heeds the muleteer 

The mountain storms of blinding snow, 
While one to him than life more dear, 

His coming waits in the vale below. 



34 A DREAM OF SUMMER. 



A DREAM OF SUMMER. 



THE zephyrs, through the open door 
Sweet with the breath of Summer, come 
Around the busy hives the air 
Is vocal with a drowsy hum. 

Safe sheltered from the glowing sun. 

The listless mowers seek repose ; 
The water lilies, pearl and gold 

At noon, their waxen petals close ; 

The cattle , through the heat of day , 
Beneath the cooling shade recline ; 

The noontide locust's droning song 
Rings shrilly from the fragrant pine. 

I wake ; and lo ! 't is all a dream ! 

Stern Winter rules the snow- clad land ; 
The birds are gone, the flowers are dead. 

The trees all bare and leafless stand ! 

Frostwork bedecks my window pane, 
And icy shackles bind the stream ; 

My vision of the Summer-time 

Has flown, like many another dream. 



A SNOW STORM IN THE COUNTRY. 35 

1 A SNOW STORM IN THE COUNTRY. 

IT is a snowy day up here among the quiet hills. Not 
like your snow storms in the city, where the flakes 
fall as if conscious that they are unwelcome visitors, and 
reluctant to mingle their purity with the mud of the streets, 
but a genuine old-fashioned, country snow-storm — spread- 
ing its vesture over the land that the rude hand of autumn 
so lately despoiled of its brighter garment, and pluming 
the trees upon the mountains until every dark and drooping 
fir is like a graceful woodland temple. The rocks and 
fence- posts are capped with ermine. The snow-birds 
drift noiselessly by, like a flight of larger flakes. After 
the storm you may track the rabbit and partridge in the 
woods, and every leap of the frisking squirrel will send 
a shower of fleecy wreaths earthward from the naked 
branches. A great wonder is working. The brown fields 
are enshrouded in stainless white, and the dirty roads have 
disappeared as if by enchantment. 

Notwithstanding the many pleasant associations of the 
falling snow, it is one of those days whose very monotony 
induces a feeling of loneliness, and when any facility for 
passing away the time is gladly availed of. And so, after 
reading up all the old files and exhausting other resources 
of diversion, we turn to that encyclopedia of the poor 
man, the almanac for the year; essay to snicker at its 
time- honored witticisms, and read over again the Farmer's 
Calendar for December, concluding with the following 
excellent injunctions : 

" Life is, at the best, but a brief span, and it becomes 



i Published in the Maine Farmer. December. 1862. 



36 A SNOW STORM IN THE COUNTRY. 

thee, the dweller of a day, to use diligence. Kill hogs 
the last of this month." 

We have finished its perusal, and have now no resort 
left but in watching the progress of the storm, and our 
own reflections. 

Yes, winter is here. In the forests of the Penobscot the 
deer and moose are yarded, the lumberman's camp is 
erected, and his axe is ringing out the death-note of many 
a noble pine. 

We knew of the winter's coming when we saw the aerial 
drove, collected in the heavens to follow in the track of 
the receding sun. We foresaw his approach when the 
waters of the pond frowned suddenly back to the leaden 
skies. The autumn woods presaged it when, at the sum- 
mons of the cold north winds they drew down their many- 
hued banner in surrender. But the homeless ! the starving 
destitute ! Ah ! to them there are other tokens of his 
advent which they have learned but too well to know and 
to dread. There are hollow eyes turned imploringly upon 
us from the squalid, shivering haunts of poverty, and 
gaunt hands are extended in mute supplication for food, 

" From the low prayer of want and plaint of woe 
O ! never turn away thine ear ! " 



THE soldier's mother. 37 



THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. 



THE gleam of the blossoming clover 
In the meadows is fresh and fair, 
And the twitter of the swallow 

Rings joyously through the air. 
The earth is bright in its beauty, 

The song of the birds is gay , 
And all nature shares in the gladness 

Of the long, warm summer day. 
But the soldier's mother is sitting 

The open window beside, 
And the tears in her mild eyes gather 

As she thinks how her brave boy died. 
And even the chirp of the cricket 

Has loneliness for her ear ; 
The earth may be fair and joyous, 
But her loved one is not here. 



38 THE LIGHT ON THE HILL. 



THE LIGHT ON THE HILL. 



THE day is gone, and the night comes on 
Chill with the dreary November rain, 
And gazing into the stormy night, 
Far upon the hills I behold a light 
Shining steadily out from the window pane. 

Many a night have I seen that light 
Faintly gleaming, a far off spark. 
As from place to place it moved about ; 
Watched till the last red ray went out, 
And the lonely hillside again was dark. 

And marvel not if the tears are hot 
On the cheek unused to tears before. 
When the twilight cometh, gray and chill ; 
There 's one in the distant house on the hill 
For whom the roses will bloom no more. 

She hath said adieu to the lake's bright blue 
And the sunlit woods, with their foliage sere, 
And the winds to-night, in their airy strife, 
Are mourning sadly for her whose life 
Is fading away like the dying year. 



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